


Fifteen Minutes

by sexylibrarian1



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Implied Character Death, Knife Play, Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 04:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11246115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexylibrarian1/pseuds/sexylibrarian1
Summary: You receive an unexpected visitor after work one night.





	Fifteen Minutes

Looking over your shoulder had become second nature.

After witnessing a murder of a government official right after a fancy dinner, you’d gone to SHIELD, who’d taken your testimony and promptly outed the criminals who had killed the man. 

Unfortunately for everyone involved, those criminals were HYDRA, and you’d had to take on a new identity, get a new car, a new address, and another job, despite the fact that the dinner had technically, been on the second day of your job as the assistant to the government official’s assistant. It hadn’t been very glamorous, but it was supposed to have paid well.

The only check you’d collected had been from SHIELD, who had given you some money out of their own pockets to get you started in your new home. You were making your own money now, in a job you hated, and you constantly wondered what went wrong with your life and what you’d done to deserve it. 

Sighing deeply, you walked into your apartment, threw your keys on your coffee table (or attempted to, seeing as they slid too far and dropped onto the carpet), and hung up your jacket, before going to your fridge, opening a bottle of water, and taking a long swig; you stuck your hand in the cookie jar, dug out three Oreos, and stuffed one blindly into your mouth.

_That kind of day._

You kicked off your shoes, still eating your Oreos, and then went to the bathroom to clean up a bit. 

A shadow fluttered in your hallway. 

You jumped badly, put your toothbrush down, and stepped into the hall, checking first left, then right. No one was there, and rolling your eyes at yourself, you went back into the bathroom and finished brushing your teeth.

You lifted your head after rinsing your mouth in the sink and realized that there was a gun to your head.

“Do not flinch.”

By some miracle, you didn’t; somewhere in your addled, panicking brain, you thought incoherently that you weren’t entirely sure what would have made you flinch first: the gun being held to your held or the man holding it.

He was tall, dressed head to toe in black tactical gear, bristling with weapons, and wearing a black muzzle over the lower half of his face. His hair was long, nearly shoulder length, unkempt and greasy and his beard was thick, dark brown and scruffy, as if no one had been taking care of him.

“Who–who are you?”

He didn’t react to the question.

“If you’re going to kill me, why don’t you just kill me?”

His eyes crinkled in what you knew was a lethal smirk, and before you had a chance to do anything about it, he slid his hand around, in front of you, and cupped your cunt, gently palming it through your clothing. You jerked in surprise and shuddered at the feel of his hand on your soaked heat. 

“You want this?”

You knew better. You did. This man was here to kill you. He had a gun to your head. He was dripping in weaponry, and you had a sick feeling that he didn’t really need it–this man could kill you with a finger if he chose to. 

And yet…

You rocked back against him and drove your ass insistently on his cock, rapidly hardening underneath your flesh and his pants. The beginning of a groan tore out of his throat, his voice rough and needy, but suddenly, you realized that the gun was gone and there was a knife pressed to your throat.

“Stop moving.”

You stilled. He pressed the knife directly to the rapidly beating pulse on your neck, and it throbbed in both fear and need as a tiny bead of red swelled on your skin. Carefully, he drew the knife downward and cut smoothly through your blouse. It fell open to reveal your nipples, hard beneath your bra, and the man smiled again, his steely, soulless grey eyes communicating everything that he didn’t say behind that muzzle. He slid the knife back up, and under the center of your bra, then, cut it apart. Your skin broke out in goosebumps, and to your surprise, he pressed the flat of the knife against your nipple.

You whimpered. The knife skirted your other nipple, went down your side, and cut through your pants. 

“Get them off.”

You did, shaking a little. He tightened his grip on the knife and, as though he were sculpting a masterpiece, drew another perfect bead of blood from your inner thigh… and then drew the point, feather-light, repeatedly across your cunt.

Once, twice… he pulled the knife back as your hips jerked and replaced it with his left thumb, dragging his finger across you in long, slow strokes. A broken breath escaped you as your thighs quivered, and he chuckled, cutting your panties open to reveal you. 

_“Krasivaya…”_

He slid a finger in, groaning as your muscles clamped briefly around it, and curled it devilishly, hitting your g-spot with his first stroke. You groaned, needy and desperate for more, and he obliged you, sliding in another finger and putting down the knife to draw two fingers on his left hand in circles on your clit. 

“Please…” Your voice was nearly a whine, and you felt briefly lucid enough to realize that you were begging him. 

“What do you want?”

“Fuck me… please… please fuck me, I need it…”

 _“Krasivaya blyadina,_ ” he taunted, easing his fingers out of you. They glistened, and he slid them into your willing mouth, letting you suck your own arousal from them, swirling your tongue eagerly, wishing they were his cock instead. “Spread your legs.”

You did.

“Wider, _shlyushka_.” 

Holding your breath, you obeyed. He swiped a hand across your cunt, experimentally, gathering your slick, and then picked up his knife.

Now you did whine. 

“Be still.” He flipped the knife in his hand, gripping the blade now, and slid the hilt back and forth on your cunt. You bit your lip; he pressed the knife hilt to your opening and then pumped it in. Your muscles clenched, the unfamiliarity of it both frightening and intriguing you, and he drew it almost all the way back out, before slamming it all the way back in, right up to the edge. You let out a sound somewhere between a cry and a groan, your voice cracking, and squeezed your eyes shut as he continued to fuck you with the hilt of the knife. As he did so, he began rubbing your clit, the contact harsh. Your hips jutted and your walls tightened. 

“Such a pretty little bitch,” he murmured. “You wanna come on my knife, slut?”

“Ye-yes… please… feels good–so good-” His hand continued to stimulate your clit, and your orgasm approached rapidly; when it hit, your body arched, your walls squeezing the knife as he fucked you with it. You panted, your body bucking under his harsh ministrations; he refused to stop, and soon, another orgasm was overtaking you, harder than the first one.

You slumped back against his body, a small, weak moan slipping out of you. Tenderly, he eased the knife out of you, slowing his fingers on your clit, but still rubbing the sensitive bead, steadying you as light shocks flashed through you and your legs quivered. Your eyes flicked to the knife, resting on the sink now, the hilt soaked in your come. 

“Are… are you going to kill me now?”

“Oh, darling… I killed you fifteen minutes ago.”


End file.
